


Sore Muscles

by sallyamongpoison



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, just a bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4203573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cullen seeks out some of the hurts in Dorian before bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sore Muscles

They’d finally made it to bed by the time the candles in Cullen’s office had burned nearly to the base of their stand. Nights in Skyhold during winter seemed endless, to the point that it was easy to lose track of time after the sun went down. They were both guilty of it: Cullen reading through paperwork at his desk until his head and back were screaming at him, and Dorian stayed in the library working until he was a tangled mass of nerves and half-formed theories. At least they had little to worry about anyone seeing them together when Dorian finally came to Cullen’s chambers under the cover of darkness that was probably closer to dawn than dusk.

Cullen was already in bed, furs and blankets pulled up over his hips as he settled back against the headboard. It was cold, cold enough that he’d lit a fire in the small stove Dorian had demanded he put in the room to keep them both from freezing to death. Dorian had come up not long after him and peeled out of his armor until he was dressed in naught but a tunic and his smalls. It was cold, yes, but Cullen gave off heat at night that rivaled any fire they could light. Under all those blankets, Dorian often found himself sweating.

“Long day?” Cullen asked as Dorian got settled in beside him. They’d had to put off their usual chess game in favor of meetings and Dorian having to work with Fiona on something or other. he was met with a soft sound of agreement as Dorian wormed his way under Cullen’s arm so his head was on the Templar’s chest. “I saw you practicing with some of the other mages earlier,” he went on, one hand trailing along Dorian’s arm, “looked intense.”

“Lavellan wants them to be more efficient at working together,” Dorian answered after a moment, and sighed, “how I got to be in charge of that I’ll never know.”

One of Cullen’s hands smoothed back down Dorian’s arm again and he lifted one of the Tevinter’s hands to inspect it. Dorian’s were so unlike his own: nimble and smart and soft where Cullen’s were chapped and made for fighting. He did like the contrast however, with all of Dorian’s baubles and rings against Cullen’s bigger and slightly more hairy ‘paws’ as Dorian so often liked to tease. Dorian’s were the academic’s hands and Cullen’s were the warrior’s. They fit together oddly well, which was probably some metaphor for their entire relationship.

“I hope you’re thinking of me with that smile on your face,” Dorian commented, and Cullen tore his gaze from where he was studying Dorian’s hands to look down into those grey eyes that saw past every defense he’d tried to put up.

He chuckled then, “Always,” Cullen teased gently and set to gently pulling off each of Dorian’s rings to pile them up in a small dish he kept on the table beside his bed. Normally Dorian did this himself, especially if they were feeling a bit more animated, but Cullen did like taking the time to do it himself sometimes. It was a gentle and slow process to get them all off of both hands, since the mage rather liked to wear something on every knuckle, but when they were bare Cullen threaded their fingers together and held them for a long moment.

It made Dorian curl in a bit closer and bury his face in against the hollow of the Templar’s neck. He liked the feeling of that strong form against him, and in these quiet moments Dorian appreciated feeling like he was the most important thing on Cullen’s mind. Of course he was, Cullen made it clear without ever saying a word, but it was nice to be treated as such. “It’s late,” he mused, and tipped his head back to look up at the sky that was still open to the room from the ceiling.

“You’re sore,” came the reply, and Cullen released one of Dorian’s hands to fish for the small bottle of oil the other man kept on the the same table beside the bed. It had a multitude of uses, but chiefly among them it made the skin ridiculously soft and smelled like oranges. The Templar poured just a drop or two into his hand before recorking it, and set himself to rubbing his hands together to warm them.

It was an odd feeling to be part of something that involved the role of caretaker. Dorian had always been so selfish, still was to a point, but he’d never worried himself much about anyone else. Now he found himself tracing a cooling spell across Cullen’s forehead when the headaches became too much or bringing a cup of tea and plate of food when he knew the other man forgot to go himself. Even more strange than that, though, was the feeling of being taken care of. He was used to people giving him things or ‘taking care’ of him when the need came up, but this was entirely different. Cullen had come stumbling and blushing into his life with his honey brown eyes that were so full of warmth and a hurt that Dorian so desperately wanted to make right. He’d also been the first one to let Dorian rant about his homeland and his family without a word until he was sure the Tevinter had run out of rage and curse words. Cullen was so quick want to be there, to make Dorian better, that he had to wonder if maybe it hadn’t worked a little.

Cullen took Dorian’s hands in his own again and set to giving them a gentle massage. Thick, strong fingers sought out all the aches and pains holding a pen or staff might cause until Dorian was groaning softly for the exquisite burn it caused. Rough thumbs dug into tender muscles at the heel of Dorian’s hands and just under his thumbs where it hurt more than he’d expected, and it made the mage all but melt against the slightly broader man in ecstasy. Oh, Cullen knew him far too well.

“Good?” Cullen asked, and Dorian noted a very familiar hint of amusement. The other man’s tone matched his usual one so well he had to wonder if it wasn’t on purpose, and Dorian opened an eye to look at Cullen’s face.

He was about to answer in kind when Cullen’s fingers found that sore spot in the center of his palm. That came from casting: where flame and frost and the storm culminated in him and moved outward. It was an ache that had begun in childhood and was consistent always. No one else had ever noticed it, but Cullen found it without any prompting. The first time it had happened, Dorian had to wonder if maybe there wasn’t magic afoot somewhere, but he knew Cullen better than that. In any case, it made him rest his cheek against Cullen’s chest. The soft blond hair that seemed to start at his pecs and travel south tickled his cheek and nose, but it didn’t matter. This felt entirely too good.

“You know it is,” Dorian finally managed, and closed his eyes again, “you’ll put me to sleep at this rate.”

“What did you think I was trying to do?” the other man asked, chuckling softly, and Dorian snorted in response before letting himself relax into that gentle attention Cullen gave him.


End file.
